A Raging Surprise
by LuxCordis
Summary: Hobbits are the only race in Middle-Earth that have Daemons. Bilbo keeps her hidden from the dwarves, but as Thorin is pushing the company on and on, it becomes harder for Bilbo's Daemon to stay put.


Ianthe's body was shaking.  
_"I'm cold…"  
_ Sighing, Bilbo pulled her a little closer, sending her his own dismay right back. A definite upside of this mental connection thing, was that you never had to wallow in your self-pity alone.

"_I know..."  
_ They let out another synchronized sigh.

It had been raining. And not just a little drizzle, or a small downpour, oh, _no_. Water had been _flooding_ from the sky, drenching everything and everyone so thoroughly, they felt like they had gone for a swim in the midst of winter.

But at least, a swim would have been voluntary. This, however, was no one's choice but Thorin _bloody_ Oakenshield's. Four days straight, he'd been pushing them through the icy cold, riding longer than they'd ever done before, sometimes even into the night, to 'cover for the bad state of the roads'.

At first it hadn't been so bad. Their spirits were still high, and at least they had food and warm bedrolls to look forward to. But when the rain didn't lift, the food started to run scarce; and when they opened their packs, they found water, soaking all their belongings without mercy.

So, here they were, three days later. Tired, cold and isanely wet, without any sign of stopping until at least light started to fade, and the only thing driving them on being Thorin Oakenshield. It was safe to say they were unhappy.

"_Do you think he even_ feels _cold?"_ Ianthe grumbled. _"Everyone is shivering, except that_ bloody _dwarf."_

Bilbo grunted in acknowledgement. He had been seeing it too. The bigger dwarfs took it best, with Dwalin only shivering every once in a while, but poor little Ori, small as he was, had been shaking incessantly for the last few hours. All his warm knitwear was nothing now, wet as it was. Not that Bilbo had been feeling particularly warm. In fact, he wasn't any better off than Ori. His waistcoat didn't do anything to keep out the cold, and, while his feet were the most enduring part of his body, he couldn't feel his toes anymore. One look down proved his suspicion they were bright red.

Thorin, however, seemed completely unfazed. He didn't show the cold or wet were affecting him at all, like his skin was made of stone. The only thing that had changed, was his mood. If Bilbo thought it had been bad before, he'd been wrong. Never in his life had he met such an ill-tempered person. Thorin's face was set in a permanent scowl anyway, but for the past few days, he had perfected it, glaring murderously at anything and anyone that got in the way. Unfortunately for Bilbo, that was often, in fact, him. Even before that bloody rain started.

Fortunately, the rest of the dwarves had rather warmed up to him. Especially Bofur and Balin had been enjoyable companions, easily joking with him and answering all his questions with great enthusiasm. In turn, they asked him about himself, about the Shire, and mostly, about Hobbits. Their interest in his heritage was surprising, but not unwelcome, and he told them all they wanted to know, his stories seemingly pleasing them to no end. One topic he never mentioned, though, was Daemons. You see, dwarves did not realise such thing as Daemons existed. Dwarves didn't have Daemons. In fact, as far as Bilbo knew, Hobbits were the only species in the entirety of Middle-Earth that had a part of their soul living outside their bodies. Bilbo had known that before he actually met the Company, but their daemonlessness unerved him still. They seemed lively enough, though, and Bilbo had come to peace with the thought that perhaps, their Daemons just lived in their hearts, instead of next to them.

_It must be lonely_, Bilbo thought, _never being able to talk to someone who is a part of you._ The mere idea of separating from Ianthe made his blood go cold. Subconsciously, he cuddled her small form a little closer. Feeling his line of thoughts she nuzzled his chest reassuringly.

"_Don't worry, Bib."  
_ _"I love you, It."_

"_I love you too._

Ianthe was not settled yet, which made things a little easier. That part certainly had been different since he left the Shire. An unsettled daemon at Bilbo's age was very uncommon among hobbits, and, naturally, highly frowned upon. If Bilbo hadn't already been odd enough due to his books and solitary life, the fact that his Daemon was still shifting made him, lightly said, an eccentric, in the eyes of his neighbors.

Not that Bilbo particularly cared for his status. He loved Ianthe no matter what shape she took, and if anything, being able to shift was quite an advantage in his opinion. She would lie happily on his lap when he read, in the form of a warm Corgi, or would fly above his head when he went to the market, spotting the Sackville-Bagginses from miles away so he could make a sharp turn when needed, and when he was cooking, the dexterous hands and feet of a monkey were always helpful. Yes, Bilbo was quite content.

When the dwarves had barged into his house that fateful night, she had been a squirrel, poking her head out of his shirt just enough to see what was going on. And the morning after, when, in a rush of boldness, they decided to join the quest, she had been sitting on his shoulder, still in her favorite squirrel shape, sniffing around. The dwarves had just assumed she was a tame pet.  
That fact became exceptionally quickly clear when Kili tried to scratch her little head one night by the campfire, scaring Bilbo into a near heart attack. He had scrambled back and tripped over a small pile of firewood, landing ungraciously on his behind. That had been one of the first times Thorin really reprimanded him. He had still been in shock from the violation, so he hadn't felt the full force of it yet. He got to feel it later though, as Thorin's mood became worse and worse as time wore on, until all Bilbo seemed to him was a fat, incompetent weakling that would get them all killed.

Now, luckily, Bilbo had quite a mild temper. Ianthe, though, had just been _seething_ every time Thorin growled at them, waving her bushy tail around. Bilbo, feeling only annoyed, just wanted to proof that he was, in fact, not a burden.

And so, he had set himself to helping Bombur cook almost every night, scattering around for edible plants, nuts and berries they could use. He traded recipes with the dwarf, who had been utterly delighted to finally have someone else with culinary knowledge on the wagon. Their improvements were widely praised by everyone, except, of course, by Thorin.

And when he found that Oín was the group healer, he had, after much prodding from Ianthe, shyly asked if the dwarf could tell him something about his duty. Oín had been a little distant, wary of this soft, little creature that had dared to go on a quest way above his head. However, when he noticed Bilbo's extensive knowledge of the local fauna and medicine, he loosened up, and together they had filled out Oín's herb stash quite a bit, expanding both their minds along the way. Bilbo's experience with particularly cuts had relieved the dwarves of their minor wounds much sooner than before, and Oín had explained to Bilbo in extensive detail how to treat all kinds of burns, when the hobbit had overconfidently grabbed a fresh pot of stew.

Bilbo even ceased his initial complaints, ignoring his painful muscles and taking his nightly watching shift without so much as a word. In the morning he made sure breakfast was ready when everyone had packed their bags, acquiring grateful smiles, and if he was perhaps a little more tired than the rest of them, he refused to show it.

But it all didn't seem to matter to Thorin. He found things to tell him off about anyway, and sometimes they were so fussy that Bilbo had to grit his teeth to stop from replying with something obscene. Sometimes he could even see the dwarves frown in the corner of his eye, which made him feel a little better.

So, there was no way he would give Thorin another reason to pick on him, especially not if Ith would be the subject. He refused to let her become Thorin's new target by trying to explain something to deaf man's ears.

So they continued on and on, until they found themselves where they were now. Still in that-

"-bloody rain, Thorin," Balin's voice drifted from the front. Bilbo's interest perked, he sat up to overhear the conversation. He noticed he wasn't the only one, a sideways look capturing the others leaning forward to listen as well, Ori almost falling off his pony. When the leader of their company glanced behind him, his confrontation with fatigued expressions of pure hope was inevitable. Apparently, they must've looked like an extreme case of misery, because Thorin muttered something under his breath and grumbled to Dwalin to scout for shelter. Instantly, Bilbo felt relief flood the group, and soon, they were all ushered into a large, though shallow cave.

Happily, everyone collapsed throughout the cave, rolling out their bedrolls, still hoping against better judgment they might dry a little before usage. Bilbo, upon setting down his pack, had felt his legs give out underneath him. He did not think he had ever been this sore before. The constant rain had given him a head ache and he was just so _tired_ . Apart from Ori, the dwarves seemed to have lived up considerably now they were out of the downpour, and were chatting merrily amongst each other, but Bilbo couldn't join them today. He felt nothing short of miserable. The only positive thing was that he was now relatively warm, because, apparently, Thorin had given green light for a fire. Ianthe had instinctively turned herself towards the warmth, relishing in the heat. Now that there was a little more comfort, she had wriggled herself out of his shirt to trim her coat and dry herself, though her actions were a little slower than usual. Bilbo's head was pounding, and he cradled it in his hands in an attempt to relieve some of the pain.

"Bombur! Get dinner ready! Hobbit, help him!"

Bilbo groaned inwardly. Of course. Dinner. The fact that Bilbo had momentarily forgotten about the existence of food, is, I think, a worrisome example of how Bilbo was faring at the moment; Absolutely shattered.

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the ground. Momentarily, he swayed a little from the rush of blood, his vision going black for a second.

"HOBBIT!"

Annoyance spiked up again, and he cursed the dwarf king intensely under his breath. He managed to hobble over to Bombur, who had already started cutting some of their dried meat.

"Are you alright, Master Baggins?" he asked worriedly. "You look a little pale."

Bilbo grunted, not really feeling strong enough to provide a proper answer.

Bombur didn't seem convinced, though, and generously insisted on doing most of the work, which Bilbo happily complied to, for once. In fact, the greater part of the time he just sat by the fire, slowly chopping some apples, his eyes drifting close every so often. He did not notice the amused, albeit a little concerned looks he got from the dwarves next to him, and the one annoyed glare from Thorin every time his hand slipped.

Dinner went by uneventful. Ianthe was irritated by Thorin's bad mood, and Bilbo, as usual, tried to reason with her, though, he too was quite annoyed at the constant glowering sent his way. The dwarves were just stuffing down all food they could get their hands on. Though the food helped, Bilbo ate slowly. He tried not to show how much his arms hurt.

"Eat up, _burglar_. You are making Nori wait with the washing up."

Pursing his lips, Bilbo looked around. All the dwarves had indeed already finished, sitting peacefully around the fire, chatting or tending to weapons. Nori stood a little off with a stash of bowls.

He turned to the lanky dwarf with an apologetic look, though he didn't think he had been entirely successful in hiding his annoyance. "I'll wash mine myself, Nori, it's fine. Sorry to make you wait."

The dwarf gave him a little smile and nodded, but was interrupted. "No, Nori. You will wash his bowl. Master Baggins should have finished already. Maybe his share should be given to someone who needs it more, seen as his appetite has obviously left him," Thorin sneered.

Anger bubbled up in Bilbo. "No, Nori," he snapped back, his eyes not leaving Thorin's, "it's fine. My appetite is in perfect condition. Riding for four days straight through a _downpour_ seemingly does that to people."

Poor Nori seemed at loss of what to do. The conflict was clear on his face.

Thorin and Bilbo glared at each other from across the fire.

"Hobbit…" Thorin said threateningly, "if you do not eat up within the next minute I will feed it to the wolves. You are stalling our work."

Bilbo snorted. "And how, exactly, is my eating a little slower than usual stalling _anyone's_ work but Nori's?" He felt Ianthe's little nails digging in his shoulder.

"You have no concern to how quick or slow I eat my dinner, _master Dwarf_."

Thorin's expression turned thunderous. "How _dare_ you-"

"How dare I?" Bilbo's voice was dangerously quiet. He could feel Ianthe's anger, fueling his own. "How _dare_ I? So far on our travel, all you have done is snap at me, glower at me, verbally abuse me and shown me _nothing_ but hostility! Is that how you treat your people? Is that how you want to rule your mountain once you get it back? Is it?"

All was silent. The other dwarves were staring open-mouthed at Bilbo. Never had they heard anyone talk to their king like that. And never had they seen their king so _angry_, apart from maybe the ones that were there when he battled Azog. He was practically combusting, his eyes were so dark the only light in them was the fire, seething with rage.

"You have no idea," Thorin hissed low through his teeth, "no _idea_ who I am! You don't understand what we've been through. You don't belong here, Bilbo Baggins. You know _nothing_ of _loss_."

And _that_ rubbed the wrong way. Anger flared up inside Bilbo. His mother's limp body ripped apart, her badger daemon's last piercing scream, the howling and banging on the walls of Bag-End, the bloodied teeth in front of the windows. His father's soul, crushed. The hollowness.

Bilbo trembled in fury. His vision went black and suddenly he felt his companion rising with him. Ianthe's body had reacted without command. As a tigress in their youth, she had been striking, scaring the bullies away with piss in their pants, but now, fully grown, in a fit of rage, she was downright terrifying.

She was huge, her shoulder reaching past Bilbo's head, her muscles of steel were clenched tightly beneath her skin, her teeth were bare, lips pulled back in a furious snarl; crouched low to the ground she was ready to lunge at anything and anyone that dared to do so much as move, her eyes never leaving Thorin.

For a split second, the dwarves were stunned. Then, as one, they reached for their weapons and in moments at least seven deadly projectiles were hurling towards Ianthe. Being too fixed on the king, she was too late to duck and one terrible, horrifying moment Bilbo thought they were going to hit her. Then, at the last moment, Gandalf's voice shook the cave on its grounds.

"ENOUGH!"

With relief, Bilbo watched the weapons come to a stop mid-air before clattering harmlessly on the floor. The next second Ianthe was a fly, buzzing frantically by his ear. Quietly he reached out his hand to cup her body.

Had this been any other situation, the expressions on the dwarves' faces would have been hilarious. Bilbo didn't think they could look more dumbfounded if they tried. That said, they were still scanning their surroundings, ready to combat anything that dared to appear.

Gandalf spoke again. "Lay down your weapons, you have no need for them here," he said tiredly.

Thorin hadn't averted his eyes from Bilbo after Ianthe had disappeared from sight. His intense gaze might have gone from murderous to curious, but nevertheless he, too, was tense as rock and ready to fight to the death should the situation require it from him.

Apart from the shuffling around, nobody said a word.

"O for the Valar's sake, sit down!" Gandalf exclaimed. "The only one that was at risk of being harmed was master Baggins, not you bloody lot of dwarves!"

Immediately, all attention went back to Bilbo. He swallowed.

One by one , the dwarves sat down again, not lowering their weapons one bit. Only Thorin didn't budge, eyes fixed on Bilbo's.

"What," Kili said slowly, "was that, Gandalf."

He let out a deep breath. "That, master dwarf, was master Baggins' closest friend. You have met her all already, though you didn't realize it."

At their confused looks, he turned to Bilbo, "The dear squirrel, if I am quite correct."

Not that Gandalf had any doubts. He would be able to recognize that bright soul from miles away. A daemon had a very particular air around them, and one that he didn't come across often.

"Don't worry, she won't hurt you, no matter what form she takes. In fact, touching you would prove extremely uncomfortable to her."

He looked pointedly at Bilbo , who reluctantly released Ianthe from his grip. She hovered still in the air, making as little noise possible. Her nerves radiated through their bond.

"Bilbo, would you mind introducing us? Unless she wants to do it herself, of course."

Feeling nothing for letting her in the open amongst thirteen dwarfed with weapons, but seeing the importance, he sighed and murmured, "Ianthe?"

_I'll do it._

The resistance that flowed through his mind contradicted with her words.

Nevertheless, Bilbo nodded gravely. Turning towards the dwarves, he muttered, "Don't jump," before she abruptly switched form.

He heard the gasps of surprise when suddenly a small dog appeared at his feet, seemingly out of thin air. Quickly, Bilbo scooped her up and she relished in the safe feel of his coat. She nodded stiffly to the Company.

"Ianthe, pleasure to meet you."

After what seemed like the longest moment of Bilbo's life, Ori was the one to break the silence with a breathless, "At your service," that appeared automatic if anything else.

Shocked, the dwarves had all but forgotten about their weapons, dangling limply from their hands.

"What _is_ she?" Fili asked.

Annoyed, Bilbo answered, "She's a daemon. A little respect would be appreciated, thank you very much."

Not sure if he should be irritated or ashamed, Fili looked to his uncle for direction.

Thorin, on his part, seemed unfazed by the recent events. However, Fili had known him for a long time, and he could see the war behind his uncle's eyes.

"Thorin?" he asked.

Thorin swept another calculating look over their Burglar and his friend before finally sitting down.

"I didn't realize hobbit's had daemons," he grunted.

Surprised, the Company tore their eyes from Bilbo to look at their king. "You knew about this?" Dwalin asked.

"No," Thorin replied sullenly. "But I heard stories. A long time ago, about races that carried part of themselves outside. They were thought to be extinct, the extra vulnerability having been a mortal liability in their wars. In fact, no one believed the stories to be true at all." He paused. "It seems they were wrong."

"A part of themselves?" Bofur asked. "But you said 'she'. Bilbo is no woman."

A slight uncomfortable silence fell.

"Are you?" Bofur said hesitantly.

At their astonished faces, Bilbo couldn't help but giggle, though his nerves most certainly had more than a small part in the hysteria.

"No. No I'm not," he said. And a small murmur of relief raised up from the group.

"But she is. It's normal for one's daemon to be of the opposite sex. A daemon of the same sex is quite uncommon," he continued. "It's always been that way."

"Ah," Bofur said.

Gandalf hummed in appreciation. "Now, first things first. Perhaps, Bilbo, you would like to sit down?"

Hastily dropping to the ground before the fire, he watched all eyes turning to him expectantly. He cleared his throat uneasily.

"Well," he said, "I suppose... If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them the best I can... Although… I don't know everything..." he looked at Gandalf.

Gandalf smiled encouragingly. "I'll fill in," he said.

For a second it was quiet, then, surprisingly, Ori's little voice spoke up first.

"What is a daemon?" he asked curiously. Then immediately he shrunk back into his seat, his face flushing bright red when all attention turned to him. "I mean- I just figured- Because Th-Thorin said she was a part of you- and, you know..." he trailed off in embarrassment.

"Daemons, my dear Ori, are a part of one's soul," Gandalf said, "A small piece of your being that has been split off from the rest, manifesting in the form of an animal. As such, touching another's daemon is strictly forbidden, unless one has given permission to," he said, looking pointedly at Kili.

Kili had the decency to look down in shame. "I didn't know…" he muttered.

"So, basically, when you touch a daemon, you touch someone's soul?" Gloin asked. "Seems dangerous, if you ask me."

"In the Shire, having a daemon is actually very helpful," Bilbo piped up. "You can see by someone's daemon if they are lying or not, or if they are angry or friendly hobbits. It's quite an advantage when you try to bargain at the market."

"How can you see if someone's lying?" Fili asked curiously.

"Well," Bilbo explained hesitantly, "because a daemon is a part of you, you have a connection. Usually, if someone's angry, their daemon will show signs. It's harder to lie for a daemon you see. Their nature won't allow them. So when someone's got a big daemon, it's quite hard for them to completely conceal how they feel."

"Why don't they just turn small then?" Dori asked.

Bilbo coughed lightly in discomfort. "Most daemons… settle after their owners come of age… They don't change anymore."

"Ianthe does," Kili said, pointing out the obvious once again.

Bilbo winced slightly. "Yes, well. I've always kind of been an oddity I suppose. But I don't mind," he added. Ianthe wriggled her nose against his neck in affection. "It comes in quite handy."

Another awkward silence filled the room.

Bilbo glanced over Thorin, realising how that must've sounded, considering their recent treatment of each other. He regretted their outburst fervently, though he stood by his objections.

He felt Ianthe wriggle in his grasp.

"Bilbo," she whispered, "we should apologise."

Bilbo nodded. If not to Thorin, at least to the others.

Coughing uncomfortably, he said, "I am sorry for what just happened. Really sorry."

"Sorry I scared you," Ianthe said, her voice surprisingly clear.

"Yes, we… lost control for a second," Bilbo said, his voice much lower. "We didn't mean to get so angry."

Thorin looked at him for a long moment. As usual, his face was contorted in a nasty frown, which told Bilbo, exactly, nothing. Then he nodded. "I apologize for trying to kill your daemon."

Reliving the moment for a second, Bilbo shuddered in terror.

"She caught us off guard," he narrowed his eyes at Ianthe at that. "Make sure it won't happen again." Whether he was talking to Bilbo or to Ianthe was unclear, but they both nodded solemnly. They knew the consequences.

"What… what exactly happens when a daemon gets killed?" Bofur asked, flashing back to mere minutes ago when they had tried that very thing.

Bilbo turned around to bring the unpleasant news, but before he could reply, Thorin spoke.

"He would've been dead before his body hit the ground," he said, his voice unwavering.

The silence that followed was one of shock.

"I am so sorry," Bofur said. "I didn't know- she seemed a threat, she was so huge!"

"We didn't know she was you- you were her- we didn't want to kill _you_," Kili stumbled.

"Please accept our apologies," Fili added amongst the noise.

For a few seconds, Bilbo looked around the group in genuinely surprised awe.

Finding his voice, he stammered, "It wasn't _your_ fault." Spluttering a little at the protests that rose up, he said, "_I_ was the one that got angry. And you weren't exactly prepared. You didn't know better."

"But still," Balin said, "we nearly got you there, laddie. If Gandalf hadn't intervened…"

"Yes… well… he did, didn't he?" Bilbo said. "It's fine. Really."

"Could she do it again?"

Kili practically bounced. "Yeah," he said. "Could she?"

"Uhm…" Bilbo hesitated. "What?"

"Could she change into a tiger again?" Dori repeated.

Dwalin nodded."It'd be quite helpful," he considered. "We could get used to her so we don't accidentally kill you again."

"Oh.." He looked at Ianthe. "I suppose…"

After a few moments of hesitance, she nodded reluctantly.

"Just make sure they don't hurl their weapons at me again," Ianthe whispered desperately in his ear. "That was not my idea of fun."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Bilbo answered quietly. "She asks if you could please put your weapons down?" He repeated a little nervous. "Because, you know…"

Hastily, they all put away their weapons, eager to see now they knew it was safe.

Ianthe hesitantly pulled free from Bilbo's grip. She padded around a little bit on her short legs, feeling very vulnerable so in the open. Then, trying to do it as slow as possible, she transformed back into her tigress form. Nervously, almost expecting the weapons to come flying again, she ducked her head.

In reassurance she felt Bilbo's hand coming up to lay on her flank, and she eagerly turned to his side, crouching low beside him, and let him pet her, though her eyes skittishly flickered around the circle.

"That's amazing," Ori sighed.

"She's beautiful," Dori murmured.

"Aye," Bofur agreed. "Could kill you in one bite as well."

Ianthe growled at him for that.

"Let's hope it's not her that gets killed," Thorin said from across the fire. "We need our burglar." Then he stood up resolutely and retreated to the back of the cave.

Bilbo watched him go. He sighed. At least he hadn't been kicked out yet. And that was something. Ianthe snorted beside him.

_"Perhaps I really_ did _scare him."_

Bilbo giggled.

_"Perhaps."_


End file.
